Busy With The Pooper Scooper

Just as Irishman and I had finally got some semblance of order back in our lives, there was a knock at the door. Stood on the doorstep was my dear friend Mo with a tiny puppy in her arms.

Wilma at 4 weeks

The little scrap was crawling in fleas and shivering. Over night some callous person had dumped the pup in her garden, no doubt in the hope that some English sucker would find the poor mite and take on the responsibility of their unwanted puppy. Unfortunately this is a common occurrence here. Understandably Mo didn’t want to be saddled with a puppy, and besides she was about to leave for the airport so what were we to do?

As luck would have it, the scruffy mite was almost the dead spit of Colin. Similar markings, same waggy tail and eyes that screamed out ‘Love me!’ How could I…